


(you and me) we'll paint it all in gold.

by peppermintly (soundingawkward)



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Next Door Neighbours, Gen, M/M, road trip fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:44:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3533237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundingawkward/pseuds/peppermintly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"so, you’re going to scotland for a couple of weeks. have you got everything sorted?” eileen glances around at the mess surrounding her son’s suitcase. she covers her smiling mouth with a hand under the pretence of yawning.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em>“absolutely.” louis grins. nick’s sure that’s a lie. the only absolute louis knows is that he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing.</em></p><p> </p><p>or nick and louis go on a road trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(you and me) we'll paint it all in gold.

**Author's Note:**

> for the [oscar wilde ficathon](http://1doscarwildeficathon.tumblr.com). the inspiring quote from oscar wilde’s work for this fic was;
>
>> “Any place you love is the world to you,” exclaimed a pensive Catherine Wheel, who had been attached to an old deal box in early life, and prided herself on her broken heart; “but love is not fashionable any more, the poets have killed it. They wrote so much about it that nobody believed them, and I am not surprised. True love suffers, and is silent. I remember myself once—But it is no matter now. Romance is a thing of the past.”
> 
> from the remarkable rocket, a short story from the anthology the happy prince and other tales, which can be read online [here](http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/902).
> 
> title is from [into a fantasy by alexander rybak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beo1w-C_wHk). the entire lyric is “tell me what the future holds / you and me we’ll paint it all in gold” which i felt was a bit long for a title, but all the meaning is important. 
> 
> when talking about this fic with friends i described it as _”it has art journalling poet nick who has writer’s block and botany student louis who itches to travel the world who are best friends. and they go on a road trip.”_ i think that’s probably every important aspect of the au-ness of this fic. i write in lowercase letters because it preserves the flow of how i envision this fic exists. any grammatical, punctuation or syntax errors are my own, apologises if i missed anything. please let me know what you thought/give me feedback. 
> 
> thank you to namra who was hugely supportive whilst i was writing this; i couldn't have done it without you.

i.

louis tapes a map of europe to nick’s wall.

 

he doesn’t even bother taking down nick’s posters and art and scraps of napkins with poems. he just sticks the curling sheet in with drawing pins. it’s an old map, probably something he stole from out of the yellowing set of encyclopedias in the attic. nick looks up from his art journal just as louis throws a green pin at the map, the blunt side bouncing uselessly off the wall.

 

“what are you doing?” nick picks up the pin before louis can throw it again. it just dropped into nick’s pencil case this time but the next it might take out an eye or something.

“we’re going on a roadtrip,” louis announces. he picks up a bright red pin, “and i’m deciding by luck where we’re going first.”

 

louis throws the red pin, this time managing to get it point first but it doesn’t stick into the wall like he obviously thinks it should. instead, it tears a hole in the map, pin dropping down onto nick’s desk again. louis huffs, reaching out for the pin but nick beats him to it again.

 

“i’m not driving you to...” nick squints at the map. the teared hole somewhere in ukraine and he estimates the closest city, “kiev.”

“and why not?” louis demands, one hand on his hip as he searches for more pins to throw at nick’s wall. nick doesn’t even really want the map on his wall.

“do you even want to go to kiev?” nick’s eyebrows wing to his hairline. he throws a questioning glance louis’ way.

 

“well,” louis sniffs, making a face and after a moment of nick making one back relents, “i don’t know shit about kiev.”

 

“how about you pick somewhere not over the ocean and i’ll _think_ about driving you there.” nick drops the pins he rescued onto his desk, letting louis gather them up as he goes back to his journal. honestly, he’s not sure why. he’s been staring blankly at it with a fineline pen at the ready for the last hour and louis’ roadtrip tirade is a welcome distraction.

 

“what about ireland?” louis demands, nick’s entirely sure he’s just asking to be contrary and difficult. he’s not in the slightest endeared by the put upon frown creasing between louis’ eyebrows.

“i said not over the ocean.” nick exaggerates each syllable, speaking with the kind of slowness usually reserved for people in need of patience of careful wording. louis sticks his tongue out.

 

“it’s like only a half an hour flight from london to dublin.” louis points out. nick is have none of it.

“i’m not driving you around dublin.” swapping his fineline for a pencil nick decides to sketch out today’s art journal page about maps and road trip ideas. it’s something, at least.

 

“you’re such a spoil sport.” louis huffs, stabbing one of the pins in the general vicinity of where nick supposes manchester must be on the map. it covers half of northern england. louis peers closer at the map, twisting the pin around. “scotland it is then.” he decrees.

 

nick’s pretty sure louis will forget about the whole road trip thing in a week or so.

  


ii.

“ _nicholas!”_

 

louis is hanging off the edge of the fence, arms hooked over it and grinning wildly. nick had seen him before out the upstairs window, when he was dragging his sister’s kiddy slide set to stand on. nick was just going to ignore him, but he can’t really now.

 

“what are you doing?” nick feels like he’s always asking that question. louis brandishes a posy of wilted forget-me-nots he obviously stole from up the road.

“i wanted to talk to you.” he says simply. like he thinks that’s a perfect explanation for what he’s doing. maybe it is. it is louis after all.

 

“don’t you have like a key? besides, mum would have let you in.” honestly, nick thinks in an entirely fond way that has him trying to stop a small smile, louis has been inviting himself over since he could talk. this fence business is a little asinine.

“it was urgent.” louis says. nick wants to argue about the kiddy slide and all that effort, but louis looks particularly stubborn today so he drops the idea.

 

“what’s so urgent you’re yelling over a fence at me?” nick’s not really sure he wants to know. maybe he could still walk off and pretend he didn’t realise louis was talking.

“remember how you said we’d go on a road trip?” he grins, hooking his chin over his arm, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously. he’s got some crazy plan, nick just _knows._

 

“i never said we would.” nick raises his eyebrows.

“i’m pretty sure you did. and don’t interrupt.” louis chastises. he tries to poke nick on the nose with the posy but nick really just gets a faceful of flowers and leaves. “anyway, scotland is like, a _perfect_ idea. got some interesting stuff apparently, and it’s supposed to be like romantic, so that’s like good for your poetry shit, right?”

 

“i’m not going on a romantic holiday with you.” nick deadpans. it sounds like a _horrible_ idea. louis will make a joke out of it, nick couldn’t take that.

“romantic like, scenery or whatever. pretty looking trees and stuff.” louis shrugs, it looks awkward with his arms curled over the fence, “or at least that’s what the brochures say. and like, you’ve got no inspiration lately so like, a romantic road trip with your best mate’s better than nothing.”

 

louis is so _earnest._ he’s an easy grin and wild, bright eyes like this is most brilliant plan yet as he waves his wilted baton of flowers around. he hasn’t even got a clue nick’s hopelessly gone for him in the quietest, softest of ways.

 

“i do so have inspiration. my writing is just fine.” nick feels defensive over the few scraps of mediocre poetry he’s managed the last few months. it’s terrible and he’s lacklustre about writing at the moment, but at least it’s something.

“yeah.” louis’ words are dripping with sarcasm. “that’s why you’re always up so late, silhouette hunched over your desk and when i come over there’s never new poems on the walls.”

“fine. when do you want to go?” nick sighs.

 

“you’re the best nick,” louis beams, half diving over the fence at nick for a hug. nick reaches out to steady him and gets belted with the flowers again.

“yeah, yeah of course i am.” nick agrees, and the smack of louis’ overly loud exaggeration of a cheek kiss rings in his ears.

“you won’t regret it,” louis promises, shoving the posy of forget-me-nots at nick. “the _Myositis alpestris_ are for you. to remember, y’know? forget that we’re going on a road trip not.”  

 

he’s back over the fence and down the kiddy slide before nick has the opportunity to demand actual answers or ask any more questions. nick has so many. he’s not really sure what he’s signed up for, agreeing to a road trip with louis.

 

the forget-me-nots are all droopy in nick’s hand. the stems are torn like louis just ripped at them whilst picking and they’ve all just loosely been tied by stretched out hairband. he trundles to the kitchen to snip off the ruined parts of the stems and settle them in one of his mum’s ornate vases. he carries them to his room, settling them down on his desk and gets out his art journal.

 

he draws forget-me-nots until he’s run out of room on the page, smudging blue and green watercolours into the pencil outlines. when it’s dry, nick scribbles down things he doesn’t want to forget in point three tipped artline pens. the roadtrip doesn’t even make the list, not when there’s things like the way louis’ eyes lit up as he called nick “the best.”

  


iii.

it’s far too early in the morning for someone to be wildly knocking on the door. nick feels sleep heavy and messy, ready for a coffee or two. at least, he supposes, the banging hasn’t woken his parents. they deserve sleep-ins on the weekend.

 

nick opens the door to a bright louis with sleep-mussed hair and sleeping bag under his arm. nick squints. and then shuts the door. louis at five am is no worse than louis at any other time, but nick is hoping it’s just a dream or an imagining because he wants to go back to bed. the knocking at the door starts up again and louis is still there when nick opens it again.

 

“are you all ready?” he demands, unbothered that nick just slammed the door on him.

“ready for what?” it’s five fucking am on a sunday. nick’s not ready for anything.

“uhm, our road trip nicholas?” louis pulls a face, it’s got insults written all over it, “i can’t believe you forgot.”

 

“i can’t forget something i was never told about.” nick squints. he can’t remember anything about the road trip other than louis telling him they’re going to scotland. “come back in three hours and i’ll think about it.” he shuts the door again, huffing as he makes his way back up the passageway.

 

louis lets himself inside the house as nick’s trying to be as quiet as possible brewing himself some weak tea. he drops the sleeping bag on the kitchen table and squirms up to nick, draping himself all over nick’s back. nick huffs, stooping forwards as louis’ squishes his face between nick’s shoulder blades.

 

“mmmff sawfy.” is the only noise that comes out of louis’ mouth, a mumble of sounds that vibrate against nick’s back but don’t make any sense as words. “pluhhs ill uuhm.”

 

“i have no idea what you’re trying to say.” nick stirs another teaspoon full of sugar into his tea and wrinkles his nose as he takes a sip.

“uh,” louis shifts, titling his head back and poking his pointy chin into nick. “i said i was sorry and i’d really like it if you’d still come on the road trip with me.”

 

nick’s not really sure that’s what louis said at all, but he supposes it’s the gist of it. louis is warm and soft and he knows nick can’t say no when he’s already half convinced and being snuggled. it’s not like nick’s doing anything important otherwise, and remedying some of louis’ small town wanderlust will be useful even if he doesn’t write anything new.

 

“you’ve got to help me pack, though.” nick’s going to regret this. he’s going to regret the early morning and the road trip and louis’ fluttery eyelashes. “and be quiet, my parents are sleeping.”

 

louis is anything but quiet. nick’s not sure why he really expected anything else. he packs with  cheerful abandon, randomly picking clothes out of nick’s closet. he puts half of it back on account of any ridiculous reason he can possibly come up with. he whistles as he works, much to nick’s dismay, and wakes nick’s mum up.

 

“hullo mrs. grimshaw,” louis smiles as he looks up at the creak of nick’s door, eileen with rollers in her hair and a fluffy nighty peaking in. she blinks, rubbing at her eyes.

“hello louis,” she says, staring down at the mess of nick’s clothes spread out over the floor, “what are you doing?”

“we’re going on a roadtrip.” louis supplies, rolling up a coat to try and stamp it down to be smaller to fit into the last pieces of space in nick’s suitcase. “i’m helping nick pack.”

 

“how long are you going for?” eileen looks faintly amused, hand on the door frame and a kind glint in her eyes.

“about two weeks, just popping up to scotland.” louis smiles, all radiant and calming. it’s like he’s sending out soothing vibes, and nick frowns. two weeks is a fair amount of time.

 

“don’t zip that up, i haven’t got my toiletries in there yet.” nick chastises as louis _jumps_ on nick’s suitcase, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.

“honestly, if you’d packed before.” louis rolls his eyes exaggeratedly with a sigh.

“i would have packed if i _knew_ what was happening.” nick retorts.

 

“so, you’re going to scotland for a couple of weeks. have you got everything sorted?” eileen glances around at the mess surrounding her son’s suitcase. she covers her smiling mouth with a hand under the pretence of yawning.

“absolutely.” louis grins. nick’s sure that’s a lie. the only absolute louis knows is that he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing.

 

“well, have fun dears. give us a ring if you need anything.” eileen nods, yawning for real this time and pats the door frame before turning around to head back to bed.

 

“thanks mum,” nick says. at least louis’ ideas don’t surprise or phase her, “you’re the best. i hope you can go back to sleep, you deserve a sleep in. sorry we woke you.”

“your mum is so nice,” louis nods his head in the direction of nick’s door. he reaches out to take the toiletries before trying to stuff it in the space left open between his legs. nick drags a hand down his face.

 

he looks pleased when the bag zips easily, grinning up at nick from balancing carefully atop it. nick’s tired. he’s so tired and a ball of sunshine won’t stop staring at him like he’s the entire world because he can’t say no to it.

 

“you drive first so i can take a nap.” nick says. he probably won’t sleep at all now, despite feeling sluggish and sleepy, but it’s a good excuse.

“alrighty.” louis can’t stop grinning and if his happiness wasn’t so contagious nick would want to tape his mouth up with duct tape. “i’ll put this in the car, are you ready to head off now?”

“do i look ready?” nick’s still in pajamas and he wants to bring writing tools and paints.

 

“you always look like that.” louis quips, calling out behind his shoulder as he pushes nick’s door open.

“arsehole,”  nick calls out after him, bending down to find something to wear in the pile of clothes louis’ left on the floor. if they’re driving all day, nick wants to be comfy so he picks out a pair of track pants and his dr dre shirt.

 

in his satchel, nick slips his art journal into one of the pockets, easing it down. there isn’t many pages left so he pulls the bottom draw of his desk out to pick up another moleskine. he adds his tablet and pens and pencils and paints and wonders what else exactly he should be taking with himself. he’s not entirely sure what one takes to scotland. he has no idea what to expect with louis in charge.

 

louis comes stomping up the steps, too loud, too awake. nick hisses at the thought of the noise rattling around in his parent’s bedroom. the thudding stops, quiet, careful steps up the last few stairs and louis rounds into nick’s room with a sheepish grin. he heads straight for nick’s satchel, peering in.

 

“do you really need your makeup?” he waves the bag that goes with nick’s art journal around, a big cheeky grin all over his mouth. “i mean, i already know how you look at your worse and i haven’t gone blind yet.”  

“that’s my watercolours and you know it.”

 

“whatever,” louis says, he puts the bag back into nick’s satchel, slinging it over his shoulder and takes nick’s hand, “let’s go now.”

 

he grabs too hard and smiles, dragging nick downstairs with a cheerful hum. nick makes him pause in the kitchen, leaving a note next to his now cold cup of weak tea, just in case eileen forgets or misremembers. the click of the grimshaw’s front door sets a nervous kind of buzz in the pit of nick’s stomach that doesn’t dissipate until they’re half way up the m6.

 

louis sings to the radio. he has a beautiful voice, but he rarely sings in a non ridiculous way and nick gets sick of it. he joins in for a while, trying to out do louis’ terrible singing. and for several moments louis is all loud laughter and wild eyes, barely keeping track of the road.

 

“you can drive from carlisle,” louis says, fingers tapping along to the beat of a song nick can’t quite place the name of. “unless you don’t want to drive. and then you won’t have driven me anywhere, which is exactly what you said you’d do.”

“sure, whatever.” nick shrugs, pushing the flap of his satchel back to reach in to grab his art journal. he smooths his hands over the cover, checking all the pages are fine.

 

hooking his leg up nick settles the spine of his journal into the crook of his knee, pushing the pages back. it’s precarious at best. leaning over gently, one hand spread on the journal he roots around for a pencil or something. he procures one with a small “aha!” and drops the shavings of pencil as sneakily as possible down the side of his chair.

 

“you should start your new journal.” louis says, eyes firmly ahead of him.

“hmm?” nick mumbles through the pencil held between his lips as he looks through the cases and bags in his satchel.

 

“have all your ‘louis and nick’s amazing road trip to scotland’ memories together in one place.” louis expands, clearly he has no idea how nick art journals. or at least, he likes to pretend he doesn’t. “you can even buy those stickers you get at every tourist destination and take pictures on your polaroid camera to draw pretty pictures around.”

“i don’t have a polaroid camera.” nick laughs, “why would you think i have a polaroid camera?”

 

“seems like the kind of thing you’d do,” louis shrugs, “very indie. very hipster.”

“whatever. maybe i’ll get a disposable. is that indie enough for you?” nick’s sure they still have disposables in like, service stations, right? probably. he has no idea where to get the film developed either.

 

“suitably indie,” louis smiles, eyes on the road and lips curving.

 

nick swaps the journals around, folding the new one back with a slight crunch as the stiff with glue spine cracks a little. the noise echoes, and louis stares all horrified at the journal propped up against nick’s knee. it’s fine, really. nick’s going to scrawl out the title of _louis and nick’s amazing road trip to scotland_ and draw a silly little map of the northern united kingdom.

 

“watch the road, louis.” nick says, rooting around in louis’ half ignored street directory for a reference map of the uk.

“watch the road, louis.” louis mimics in a squeaky voice that sounds nothing like nick’s, and flicks the right page open for nick. squinting, nick takes the street directory and starts to sketch out the borders.

  
the map drawing takes time and louis yaps on about anything and everything. he talks about his sisters and their school, although he’s always talking about them and nick knows. when that conversation’s spent he goes on about uni, of last semester which seems month ago now. nick’s probably heard all the stories but he listens anyway.

 

louis misses the turn off for the a6. he goes screaming past and then swears ferociously right in the middle of a sentence. nick stares incredulously, gripping at the seat like he’s developed a fair of louis’ driving.

 

“aw fuck,” he says. “at least the ring road intersects with the m6 again.” he adds, and they go right around the ring road and over the m6 again to head towards carlisle.

“you’re already lost.” nick says and louis gives him a look that definitely means nick’s going to be elbowed in the stomach later.

 

nick buys a disposable camera, several postcards and two rolls of polos in a carlisle service station as louis flirts with the checkout attendant. they detoured a little to get petrol. and nick stares out the passenger window, sucking on a polo as louis waves a napkin at nick through the windscreen. it’s the attendant’s phone number and a little smiley face. louis wriggles his eyebrows but tells nick to “scrapbook it in your journal, ay? first road trip memory right there.”

 

ripping away the excess napkin nick slips it into the third double page, atop the rough sketch of the service station he started in his wait for louis. the first road trip memory in this journal isn’t going to be the phone number of some girl louis chatted up whilst paying for petrol. it should be louis himself, rugged up and driving.

 

“what, did you charm her with your knowledge on local weeds?” nick slips open the disposable camera box as louis pulls out back onto the road, fingers tapping at the wheel.

“absolutely,” louis is all a large, bright grin and a warm little laugh. that’s the kind of memory nick wants to keep in his art journal. “lots of _Matricaria chamonmilla_ around here.”

 

“i don’t even know what that is.” if nick’s not getting a faceful of the plant louis’ is rabbiting on about he gets lost. honestly, he is surprised they haven’t stopped by the roadside to pick things.

 

“chamomile, idiot.” louis grins, turning to look at nick with laughter in his eyes and nick snaps the first photo on his disposable camera. louis sticks his tongue out, so nick takes another.

“eyes on the road lou,” nick tuts, wondering if it’s difficult to take a selfie with a disposable camera. “honestly, how did you even pass your driving test?”

 

“go to sleep grimshaw, you get cranky when you wake up too early.” louis replies. his nonchalance is seemingly endless.

“and whose fault was that?” nick’s laugh is incredulous, but louis is unbothered, unflappable.

 

“i wouldn’t know.” louis shrugs, but he turns the radio down and hums inside of singing. it’s possible it’s a lullaby, something nick knows he learnt to sing at his sisters, but it’s also possibly a song full of cussing. whatever the case, and despite feeling like he wouldn’t be able to sleep before, the car’s warm and nick’s tired.

 

when nick wakes he feels disillusioned. the car’s not moving any more; there’s no steady hum, no sound of louis’ voice and the air’s gone cold. nick feels worse than before, an oversleep and sore throat kind of awake that is mostly grogginess. he’s uncomfortable too, from having to fold his long limbs into an awkward position for too long.

 

yawning, nick accidentally knocks the street directory and his journal to floor of the car, books tumbling off his lap. rubbing his eyes nick bends over to pick them up, smoothing out the cover of his journal. the street directory looks like it’s seen worse, so he just dumps it upon the centre console.

 

louis is missing, but there’s a racket outside, so that’s probably him. taking a deep breath nick opens up the car door, getting up to stretch properly. there’s a mild case of pins and needles in nick’s right foot, making him feel off balance a little.

 

“sleeping beauty is up!” louis calls out from around a _tent._ nick is pretty sure a tent was not a part of this road trip deal. nothing about tents was said.

 

“where are we?” everything’s green and nick needs a panadol.

“kielder caravan and camping grounds.” louis flaps his hands at the lawned area like nick’s supposed to tell from some grass and water and trees.

“you sound so excited.” nick doesn’t feel excited, louis’ tent is small and he’s still tired and there better be a warm lunch around the corner.

 

“aren’t you excited?” louis stands up and swings the hammer he was using to put the pegs in around until he almost drops it on his foot. the fool’s wearing ugly sneakers and honestly, nick’s glad he’s not having to drive louis to the ER for a ridiculous foot injury.

“i’m cold.” also, nick would like a coffee. something very sweet and sugary, preferably.

 

“let’s go for a walk along the river then, warm you up.” louis drops the hammer in the boot of the car, practically skipping around on the grass. a riverside walk isn’t nick’s idea of warming up. “i’m almost finished here, we can take lunch.”

“how long do you think we’re going to be walking for?” nick curls his arms tighter around himself.

 

“it’s only a couple of hours to lunch, besides walking makes you hungry.” and since when did louis even like hiking and outdoorsy stuff as like, _fun_? there’s only so long you can look at one speices of pine tree.  

“walking is something you do with _dogs,_ because dogs like walks. not because walking is fun.” nick is unimpressed. “and i wasn’t allowed to bring my dog.”

“she just gets muddy. we can do something else then.”

 

“coffee.”that’s all nick really wants. a good cup of coffee, too sweet.

“gross.” louis says. nick snorts. louis can have _tea_ if he really wants. “we can go to cafe on the water. got a packed lunch, though. mum made it.”

 

“what did she make?” nick isn’t particularly hungry, even if all he’s had today is a cup of tea and a few polos. maybe he should eat.

“just sandwiches. and some bought biscuits.” louis shrugs.

“oh. that’s not very exciting.” sandwiches sound as exciting as the tent looks. nick definitely wants to go to the cafe.

 

“i’ll tell her you said that.” louis grins. there’s crinkles by his eyes and nick wants to take a picture now. he’d like a memory of this.

“no you won’t.” he sniffs, stretching again as he turns back to the car.

 

louis drives to the cafe, half staring at the map he’d collected on the way in instead of the road. and nick’s glad they’re driving on walking speed roads. they left the tent there, and nick’s not sure that’s very safe. tent’s are flimsy and easy to get into and honestly, nick doesn’t really want to sleep in one. louis doesn’t seem bothered.

 

it’s busy, the cafe on the edge of some lake. there’s the clink of cutlery and the whiz of machinery. louis flounces up to the counter and orders nick’s coffee not in the slightest how nick likes it. he seems so honestly pleased, paying out his own wallet that nick doesn’t bother correcting him. he’d probably ordered it wrong on purpose.

 

louis muscles for a window seat, smiling pleasantly as he shuffles past people to sit at it. nick follows with a sigh, satchel knocking against his legs. there’s cups and plates still left on the table from previous customers and the table looks a little sticky. so nick waits until the tabletop has been wiped over before bringing out his journal. louis scrounges in nick’s satchel for the disposable camera. he wastes film taking pictures of nick messing around and his own nose.

 

“you’re ridiculous.” nick says. it’s not supposed to sound so _fond._

“i’m the best,” louis grins, turning to look out the window at the view and takes a few photos of the waterside. he drops the camera when his tea comes, forcefully offering nick some of the whole grain sandwiches his mother made.

 

the coffee is awful. on the first sip nick can’t help but screw up his face and then he gets blinded by the flash of the disposable. he glares, and louis bats his eyelashes, pulling the most incredulous innocent expression. nick doesn’t believe it for a second. he tries not to show that he doesn’t enjoy the taste of his drink after that.

 

“see, isn’t scotland lovely.” louis decrees a little while later, interrupting nick’s painting in their journal. he leans right back in his flimsy chair and nick’s a little worried it might like, collapse backwards on him if he looks any more smug.

“louis, you know kielder isn’t in scotland, right?” he hadn’t said anything before. maybe louis wanted to look at a man made forest. have a look at the plant species around or whatever else it is that botanists do in their spare time.

 

“what?” louis sits up straight, eyes wide.

“kielder is in _england.”_ nick’s pretty sure that’s like, said on the brochures or something? surely that would be a point of interest. nick hasn’t look at any brochures but still.

“no it isn’t. the english scottish border is on the edge of the forest.” louis draws his mouth into a firm line, but a frown crinkles up his brow.

 

“yeah, the northern side.” nick’s sure the border is on the map louis was _looking at_ whilst he was driving them to the cafe.  
“oh.” louis pales. only for a moment, but he pales nevertheless.

 

“oh my god louis.” nick feels the idea dawn on him like some awful scene derailing in front of him he’s forced to watch through a fogged up window pane. he’s almost afraid to wipe the condensation away and really look at it, “have you even properly looked at a map of the united kingdom? have you planned any of this road trip for a real or are you making it up as you go along?”

 

“i totally have a plan.” louis says. he matches nick’s challenging stare for a moment, and then goes a shade this side of beet red and looks away. “okay, i totally don’t have a plan.”

“i can’t believe you.” nick means it truthfully, but at the same time he can believe this entire situation. louis itches back at home, the kind of jitter and wanderlust that has your heart aching for places you’ve never been. “you just used this as an excuse to run away as far as i’d let you.”

 

nick should have seen it coming really. the whole springing it on him at the last minute and lack of any meaningful discussion before hand. louis wanted out, and louis wanted adventure and he smiled at nick until nick was agreeing without any idea of what was happening.

 

“are you going to leave?” louis’ voice is sharp, like nick might cut himself on it if he’s not careful. he sighs and gives louis a _look._

“i bloody well can’t, can i? you’ve got the car and i can’t leave you here without transport and i don’t fancy a dreadful bus.” nick crosses his arms in front of himself, letting out a loud sigh.

 

“i really wanted to go on a road trip with you, you know?” louis picks at the tablecloth threads, staring at it like he’s really interested in it. “like _louis and nick’s amazing road trip to scotland_ is exactly what i wanted, i just. i feel like i’m drowning in all that monotony and routine and i was just buzzing to get away. the entire world is just out there, and i was missing out. i _needed_ get out there. i wanted you to come, too.”

 

“any place you love is the world to you.” nick says.

 

“don’t quote wilde at me.” louis fires back. it’s quick but there’s no harshness. he crosses his arms too, and nick realises his are still in that defensive position.

“even if it’s true?” nick tries to diffuse the tension in his shoulders. he drops his hands back to his watercolours and picking up the paintbrush again.

“even if it’s true.”

 

there’s a moment of silence between them. the sounds of a lively coffee shop still stir between them, but nick’s unsure what to say. louis looks like he has too much he wants to say but doesn’t know where to start. nick dips his paintbrush into the water pot and starts on the blue of the water. just a shade too light for the lake, a shade too close to the colour of louis’ eyes.

 

“so, you think you’re going to find yourself in scotland then?” normally, nick thinks, people go further away places to go looking for themselves. maybe louis would have too.

“i haven’t lost myself,” louis sounds the words out, careful with each syllable. his tea has probably gone cold in his cup, “i just? maybe i don’t know myself.”

“that’s awfully lyrical, are you sure you’re not secretly a poet?” nick lets the teasing smile that’s been aching to dance across his mouth perk up his lips.

 

“jackarse.” louis tries not to smile.

  


iv.

the sunset is beautiful. warm hues of oranges and pinks streaking the clouds, it’s a breathtaking sight. nick can’t even take a photo because louis disappeared with the disposable camera and the _louis and nick’s amazing road trip to scotland_ journal. he hopes louis noticed and took some photos, but louis had muttered something about trees and ratios when he’d left. you can’t trust louis to pay attention to anything else if he’s doing plant things.

 

nick sits wrapped up in two extra coats and watches the colours spill over the clouds as the sun dips lower and lower, spare notebook in hand. louis also stole pencils and pens, so nick scrounged up some half an inch reject in the bottom of his satchel. it’s not scotland, but it’s probably romantic scenery so isn’t nick’s writing block supposed to be gone now?

 

“have you written any of that rambly pansy poetry yet?”

 

louis sits next to nick with a thump, sprawling his legs out and propping nick’s stolen property in his lap. the only extra layer he’s wearing is a light jumper, sleeves scrunched up to his elbows and his cheeks are flushed pink with the cold. nick looks down at the empty page in front of him.

 

“no.” nick says. louis can see that for himself. “but my list of accomplishments today includes being cold, tired and stuck on a road trip with my bratty neighbour who put a millipede up his nose when he was three.”

“that was you.” louis doesn’t miss a beat. he’s also a terrible liar.

 

“it was definitely you.” nick remembers it because louis had come crying to him first, face scrunched up dejectedly saying everything smelt bad now. they’ve been best friends forever, just about.

“hey, i was three. cut a three year old some slack nicholas.” louis _clearly_ doesn’t remember it at all. nick snorts. louis pokes him.

 

there’s a moment of silence. of just louis and nick and the dimming scenery around them as camping site lights hum yellow over the grassed area. louis is radiating heat, his knee knocking against nick’s. maybe they won’t need a campfire if louis is going to imitate the sun.

 

“maybe you’re writing about the wrong kind of love?” louis is quiet. or at least his voice is, calm and resolute, as the rest of his shifts and fidgets.

“what does that even mean?” nick raises his eyebrows, and then splutters, “what makes you think i’m writing about _love?_ of all the things, i swear-”

 

“i saw, y’know.” louis looks at his hands, journal and disposable camera still in his possession, “like the anthology stuff? i didn’t mean to, but i saw the letter. you’re supposed to be writing to be published yeah? which is really cool.”

“oh.” nick says. and then, “i mean, i can’t be published if i don’t write anything.”

 

“i think you’re trying to write about the wrong kind of love. that’s why you’ve got writer’s block.” louis thumbs the edge of the journal, pausing to pull a small torch out of his pocket. he doesn’t turn it on, just rolls it around in his hands. “you poets have written so much about a love that it just sounds like fairy tales and myths now. no one believes you anymore.”

“and what should i write about then?” nick holds his hands out, gesturing at the empty air in front of him. maybe it’s a metaphor for how little ideas he has.

 

“i don’t know. a soft love. a tender love. the love you have for your dog.” louis is all shrugging shoulders and a harumph of annoyance, like he’s trying to say _do i have to think of everything_? “anything, just not what’s making your pen skid across the page in hurried lines of nothingness. you’re trying to write burning hot, all consuming type of love, but it doesn’t even feel real anymore.”

“just because you’re a tragically monogamous cynic who is currently single doesn’t mean no one believes in the love you’re describing.” nick says. he only half means the first part.

 

“yeah, yeah fuck you.” louis pulls a face. he drops it quickly and looks utterly serious as he adds; “i still think you should write about a different love, though.”  

“hmm, maybe.”

 

nick gets an elbow to the ribs a moment later and louis half all over him. louis turns on his torch and flipping open the _louis and nick’s amazing road trip to scotland_ journal. louis’ filled up several pages with drawings of trees and leaves and he grins up at nick like nick’s supposed to understand. they’re very detailed and precise, nick’s not sure he really appreciates it properly.

 

“are you turning the road trip memories journal into one of your pressed flower collections?” nick quips, flipping a page over to look at another set of tree form and leaf shape drawings. louis rollings his eyes.

“they’re not pressed flower collections, they’re _herbariums._ ” he huffs, pointing at the veination detail he’s drawn on patches of each leaf. “they’re important scientific research, thank you very much.”

 

“right.” nick stresses the vowels, worrying the word out. he gets elbowed in the side again.

“kielder is man made, alright and the majority of trees are _Picea sitchensis._ but learning what other species are here and what shows up is very interesting.” when louis is passionate he talks with his hands, pointing and exaggerating. he’s pink cheeked and bright eyes and _wild._

 

nick is enamoured. he’s so, so utterly and ridiculously enamoured with the spark of ingenuity, of life, that is his best friend. and maybe he should write poems about _that._

 

about the way louis gets so invested. when his eyes are shimmering and his voice is raised and it’s like he’s soaking up all the light around him. glowing with it. maybe the type of love nick should be writing about is louis’ passion. the fire in louis’ eyes as he talks about flowers and trees and leaves. maybe he should write about the love that’s keeping him grounded next to louis. even after being tricked into a wanderlust-induced road trip. about how it’s just them and the night air and everything is perfect.

 

(except for it’s freezing cold. and they’re sleeping in the tiniest of tents, out in the middle of nowhere. they’ve got no plans or ideas about what’s going to happen next for at least two entire weeks. but maybe, that’s the most perfect thing of all.

 

maybe, tomorrow they’ll actually get to scotland for real this time.)


End file.
